Lajos Koltai 98 KByte	Lajos Koltai, who studied at the Academy of Dramatic and Film Arts between 1965 and 1970, is one of the most outstanding photographers of the 1970es. He regularly worked, for instance, with Gyula Maár and Márta Mészáros. His co-operation, however, has been most fruitful with István Szabó. The international success of Mephisto and Hanussen raised the interest of the film industry. He has mainly worked abroad since 1988. Koltai received his so far most prestigious award from the European Film Academy on December 4, 1999, when he won the European Film Award for his contribution to István Szabó's Sunshine and Giuseppe Tornatore's The Legend of 1900. Lajos Koltai spent one day in Berlin and this is where I met him for a short interview before he flew to his family in Budapest. In Torun you were nominated by the film The Legend of 1900. At Camerimage directors receptive for visuality are honoured by a special award. To what extent do you expect a director to be particularly sensitive to images? To a fairly large extent. That is what I was trying to point out at the event of the European Film Award, but I had only a very short time. I am lucky because I can work with directors who are highly sensitive to the image and I received this award for films I made with them. The continuously "talkable" language of film is still the image. This is becoming more and more so. In my opinion, this is the way to follow: we have to compose images speaking for themselves, instead of dialogues. Just like Tornatore's new film which has two heroes who hardly utter a word during the film. Malena is about the love of a young boy and a woman. The boy, with his companions, is following this woman. But he is different from the rest of them in that this woman is his greatest love whom he remembers throughout his life. He keeps on fantasising that he gets closer to the woman. The whole film is like a reverie, and practically neither the woman nor the boy says a word. We only see how everybody's sight is following the woman. Everybody, even the doctor and the lawyer of this small town is dying for her. Children are chasing her on bikes. The film will contain images where not one word is necessary. Morricone has already composed the music of the film. We have already made use of it in the filming of certain scenes where it was emotionally necessary, where the camera movement made it necessary. The music was played aloud. For me it is important to work with directors - and now I am honoured to be able to work with Szabó and Tornatore - who are strongly image-oriented. If we commence a work with István, he always knows that the image is the most important. The image and the light. Before shooting begins, we always know exactly what a scene is about, what the central element is in it. But also who the focal figure is, what we need to emphasise, where light comes from and why it should come from there. What does light do? Where does it shine to? What does it highlight, a person or an object? Is it morning or early dawn? We begin with what the weather and the time of day provide us. This is what all the scripts make use of. We always use the image as a starting point. The image says what the whole scene is about even if the characters in it remain completely silent. This is my latest obsession, to compose images which can be taken home and put on the wall. There should be two or three images in each film which give the essence, the summary of the film. To what extent did the fact that you were invited to shoot Giuseppe Tornatore's film well in advance make your work easier? We do not arrange things too well in advance. Tornatore is not a "big arranger". He is constantly preparing and I am too. Before the film The Legend of 1900, he was trying to put off the decision of choosing me as the photographer until the very last moment. Originally, he wanted Dante Spinotti, who immediately recommended me instead of himself. Therefore we had no time for any preparation. I met Tornatore and we talked about the film for three or four hours, maybe less. We talked about the important scenes which presented the most difficulties. These scenes were to be shot in three or four stages and later put together to form a complete image. With István Szabó I usually discuss the meaning and interpretation of things and what the plot is about. Tornatore slightly seemed to be scared. I saw that he did not wish to give anything away beforehand, he did not want us to find out anything in advance. Although he knows everything, he keeps his knowledge in secret until the day we are ready to shoot the scene. For him that is the time to unveil the secret. We need that surprise. He never prepares us for anything, although he is aware that I am also always preparing for something. Our work together resembled a little bit that of painters. We leave the image (the painting) there and the particular day will make the decision for us. We know exactly how it should look, which direction the lights come from, yet Tornatore surprises us that morning and comes out with something completely different in mind. "Let's not do it this way. How about from this " And he sets up an image for me which is almost impossible to create. Then I begin trying to carry it out and it takes a whole day. By the evening I manage to create that extremely difficult image. Meanwhile, I am "painting" continuously, like a painter, with whatever comes at my hand, a paint and a brush. So, I think that is what he likes in me, that I am not very "arranged", although I am constantly preparing. The two of us are doing nothing else all day but arranging things, but it is the given day that will finally decide. The film The Legend of 1900 has two different versions. I have seen both of them. Which one did you prefer? I loved both, although they are very different. It caused us loads of suffering. Both Tornatore and me were very sad. First he asked me: "What do you think, Lajos? I've made an American version." I was the first one to see it. As a matter of fact, it is the same film, and yet the American version lacks poetry, silence and all the beauty. It is exactly that way of thinking missing from the American version which the longer version abounds in. Everything is built upon how we speak the language of film, how it completes a sentence, leaving a little bit of time for thinking at the end. The film goes on only then. The American version is now cut to be full of rhythm, because that is how they like it in America. The Americans do not understand it in any other way, they just say, the film is too intellectual. In the long film, the characters are not really unfolded, but we understand everything more easily in it. We also comprehend why 1900 remained on the ship. The ship provides the scene of the whole film. How did you manage to create the atmosphere through light and the movements of the camera? This man grew up there. This is the only thing we really talked about with Tornatore in depth, but only one sentence maybe. When he is found, he is taken to the bottom of the ship, to the deepest and darkest depth. I do not say black only because the father is black, but because the coal, the oil and the fire is black, too. Down there it is like hell. The child is taken to hell which will finally become his home. There he finds warmth and love. Later when he meets the man whom he makes friends - I think this is one of the nicest scenes in the film - they lie on top of the coal. 1900 talks about his dreams. He can always see everything, always fantasising with things. He sees every city as if he has previously been there, although he has not been anywhere. But he is a man of fantastic capabilities. After all, the film is about his character. The most difficult part was to show what a true talent he is. It only became obvious at the piano. So the child gets down to the depth. I was talking to Tornatore about where I would have the chance to separate these worlds, to tear it away from the home, from all those friendly people. When losing his father, the child feels that he has to leave this place. To achieve this purpose, we found out a long staircase which he has to climb. I had to set a rather peculiar light, a light which looks attractive. A strange blue, as if it was coming straight from heaven. They do not even know where it comes from; the child only feels that he has to climb it. He knows that he has to leave this place, otherwise nothing will ever happen to him. He cannot stay here. And then the separation takes place. He walks up, reaching the blue. His face is becoming more and more blue. He is approaching something. Later - he might remember - his friend is climbing the same stairs. He is leaving and the light around him is becoming stronger. He is approaching something and he knows that somebody's life has been solved. If 1900 had chosen to remain, if he had not been able to leave his home, that could also have been a solution. A positive and wonderful solution. But instead, he chose to make magic out of his life. So the child climbs the stairs, reaches the strange door which opens, letting in white colour. This is the first thing that he sees. And immediately, there is a glass wall, a fantastic glass wall. He finds himself in a tube and wants to reach the glass wall. Behind it is the new world we do not know. He can also see very little of it, only its patches. He can see one thing clearly, a strange-shaped something, which is black. He knows that it will be his life. That is where he will return to and which he will love. This is where he will feel safe and that will give him shelter. The ballroom provided us with an excellent opportunity to show that this was indeed the real home for him. When in the storm everybody tumbles into the corner and staggers like drunks, when everything turns upside down, he is treading as if he has grown up there, he feels completely at home. He is bathing in light in the warmth of the ballroom. And then this woman appears. Now we can leave the interior to visit the upper deck of the ship. But the sea does not let him go. He knows that he has to stay there. There is a significant scene, when 1900 meets the girl's father. He tells 1900 that the man who lives at sea fails to hear the sounds of the sea. This is the only thing that attracts him. To see the world differently for once. He does not want to leave the ship for the woman, but because he is attracted by a different, a new perspective. This is a very important standpoint, also significant from cinematographic point of view: from which angle do we look at the world? This question will determine the basic skills, the talent and the actual personality of the artist: from which perspective do I look at the world? The location of the camera also lies upon this principle. How did you meet István Szabó? I read somewhere that you met him first as an amateur film-maker. That's right. I made an amateur film and I won a second prize with it at a festival in 1963. István Szabó was member of the jury. Making amateur films was really fashionable at that time, there were a lot of festivals. And when in 1965 I took an entrance exam at the Academy of Dramatic and Film Arts, István was sitting on the other side of the table. He was representative of the students. He asked me: "Did you make this film?" It was called the Fence. I said: "Yes". He asked me what I loved about it. It was an important question, since they wanted to see whether I knew what I was doing. Whether I knew where to put my camera and what I wanted to say in this five-minute etude. That was our last meeting, since later we met in the film industry only after my graduation. In the meantime, he regularly visited the Academy and Béla Balázs Studio. I worked quite a lot in BBS. It was on the top at that time. We made the first longer feature film then with Gyula Maár, called Press. It was a one-hour movie, and since no such films were made then, it became rather famous. István Szabó was already watching me then. He called me once or twice if he was filming with several cameras and I was sitting behind one of them. So I helped him out with his films, but we never really talked. Then in 1979 he called me. I had made a lot of films by then, I was quite well-known. He told me that he thought he would like to make his next film with me. But he also asked me to forget nothing of what I had done earlier. I had previously worked in a very strange, warm, nice and highly poetic world. My most famous and perhaps my most beautiful colour film was Mrs. Déry, Where Are You? which I made with Gyula Maár in 1975. István Szabó asked me not to change what I was doing, but I should rather try to transpose what I know into a different world. Into a much cooler and more blue world. Out of this was born Confidence. The story of two men would have endured too much warmth. István made me realise that I had to leave the environment I got very much used to, where I could work fairly well and with remarkable confidence. I need people like him. Anyway, Giuseppe Tornatore also belongs to this type. Every day he requires me to do things, by which he would surely get me on the edge. We are constantly dancing on the edge of something. But it always brings something new, something beautiful. In Confidence, we tried out a different world. A cool, grey, greyish-green, greeny colour world I cannot even describe the colour of that film. We were struggling for it in every set. We even changed the clothes, the furniture, the wall. The story required a certain tone of colour for its background. István Szabó is known and admired for his excellent co-operation with actors and actresses. What is your relationship like with the actors and actresses? I can consider myself very lucky in this respect. And this does not only apply to Europe and not only to those Hungarians whom I know very well from Confidence, with whom I have a really good relationship, they are my best friends. I have quite a few good friends in Hungary. But my relationship with the artists in America and now in Italy is also very good. In America you can get lost among stars, anybody can easily become anybody's enemy. Nobody is irreplaceable. What is important is to get on well with others. I usually have one or two weeks to get myself accepted. They usually like me. I have worked with Jodie Foster, who is an actress and director, I have also worked with Holly Hunter and Anne Bancroft. For me it is important to have a close contact with the actor or actress and also when I am working I have to like them as a person. I have to love their face, I must not find any mistake on it. The power of caring also becomes stronger in me then. I think a person should be approached only very sensitively. I need a good relationship to be able to create the face with light as I imagined. How much do you like studio work? When I began filming I hated it. Everybody was making films out in the streets then, so that is what I considered natural and good. I loathed studios. I did not believe in anything produced in a studio, probably out of my pure inexperience. Now I know that I can do everything in a studio. Moreover, current shooting plans make it much easier to work in a studio. The sun does not shine for 15 hours. You cannot do every shot on original location and you cannot even hope that there will be enough light. And what if there will not? Then we should stop filming? Today I cannot say it to any director. I should be able to continue with the same light even if it is pitch dark outside. Today I am much more prepared technically to solve such problems and I love being in studios. I know that I am not exposed to the weather or the time of day, just like now in Tornatore's film. We are shooting the film in Sicily, the weather is excellent, but I just cannot take my eyes from the sky. This makes me rather tense and I behave as if I am responsible for all. Goodness me, everybody's watching me! What now? And I just do not know what comes next. If a cloud has to appear, it does appear. If it decides to go, it does and we are lucky. We were filming on a big square, within a diameter of 200 meters. It was extremely difficult to decide when and what to shoot in which corner. If I began shooting only 15 minutes late, problems occurred. In a studio, I can do everything for myself. I can handle things and it gives me a sense of security. We can achieve our aims to a greater extent with the set, too. I can very well co-operate with production designers. I can tell them what to build, what to put on the wall in what colour. I can light out of the set in a way that nobody recognises it. But I always build up the set to feel the way I would on location. First I had to face strong resistance in America, but it is slowly, but surely accepted everywhere, even in Italy. All the sets should look and feel the same as those on location. If I knock my elbow against the wall, I want to feel the pain. The walls should not be removable. You know, everybody builds the set with removable walls. But that's exactly the point, the walls should not be removed, because it will ruin everything. I hate it, although it is a very commonly applied method: photographers go behind the bed, where the wall is and shoot from there. But where is the camera? In the wall? So, I try to stick to naturalness, as if we were in a real place. Walls should not be removed by all means. So today I can say that I am fond of film-making in studios. In recent years you have been working abroad, except for István Szabó's films. Why is it still so important for you to live in Hungary? It is really very important. It is important for me to come home. I regard it more and more important and I have also learnt what it means. Going home: I take these words literally. Going home and staying at home. I love working in America, I have great colleagues there. I have a lot of friends and a constant crew in America and in Italy, too. We talk a lot about it: "Are you going home?" "Yes, home." It is a fantastic feeling, the family, the warmth, the home I have established and which is mine. And when returning, you put a few things into your pocket which may help you through hard times. Europe is a place which you cannot find in America, and here I am speaking about Los Angeles. I am not against it, I feel great there, but I miss part of the culture which I can find on every corner in Europe. At home I find something cultural on every corner: a building worth taking a look at either for its proportions or because it is in ruins. This returns something to me. I am looking at a street and for me it is part of thinking. I constantly see something which talks back to me. If I spend too long time in America, I feel that I have to complete the film and return to Europe.
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